


Someone Had to Show You

by rollingwave



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rollingwave/pseuds/rollingwave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is always looking for a fight, for something to numb everything else he refuses to feel, constantly butting heads with whomever he comes across. Most of the time he's found in the streets, grinning wide and red, back to the hard stone of the pavement.<br/>But even though when Herc finds him this time, and he's drunk and beaten as usual, something is different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Had to Show You

Herc finds him in the drunk districts. It's dark, the tall, towering buildings surrounding him melting in with the sky above. This had been one of his own frequent neighborhoods, when it seemed like only liquor and unknown bodies was the cure to the war raging all around them.  


Rain is falling from above, the dark drops colored in bright neon by the signs covering the bars, then forcefully hitting the cobblestone beneath his feet.  
It’s not the first time Herc has found his son escaping the Jaegers and the harsh truth that's constantly surrounding them, for the same reasons he used to. The thought of his son feeling as he did stabs him deep in the gut, a surge of anger and shame boiling hot there.  


He should have raised him better.

It’s not like he hears them, there’s more of a _feeling_ in the air around the sixth corner down the street, the loud crowd not quite so loud there, and the ground less covered in heavy boots and thin, high heels. He knows that he will find Chuck there before even checking his son’s favorite hideout bar. Call it instinct, call it experience.

There are four of them, and then Chuck. He’s not small, but he’s definitely younger than them, as there are still years for him to grow into his full potential. For Herc, Chuck is still a boy, but the men around him are definitely that- _men_.

Whenever Herc has come looking for him before, he’s either pulled his son's drunk ass out of a bar or hauled him out of an even drunker fight. Not like this, though.

One of the men has Chuck firmly pushed up against a grim brick wall, half of his frame pressing Chuck’s right shoulder and hip tight to the stone. Close by, a second man is leaning relaxed against the wall, smirking at the scene before him, taking slow gulps of beer. The two others are laughing and joking tauntingly, standing behind the man prowling on Chuck. It looks like the sight Herc is used to see, though less crowdy, less bloody: even though his son has a cut above his eyes and familiar bruises forming on his cheek.

He’s about to walk up and yank his son away, even though he’s pretty sure he deserves whatever he’s about to get, when he notices.  


The man pushing Chuck to the wall, a tall muscly guy with a tight jacket and a short buzz cut, has his hand between their bodies. Herc stops, unsure of what he’s seeing, when the man shifts and he definitely watches him grope and grind against his son. Chuck looks like he always looks when he’s about to get beaten: miserable, but with a pained, brilliant smirk, as if he believes he deserves it. Like fighting anything but kaijus isn’t worth taking seriously.

The man shoves Chuck harder against the stone, and gives his cock a solid squeeze, blurring the smirk previously on Chuck’s face into a frown, and Herc knows that expression; to much force for it to actually feel good.  
His son let's out a grunt, too breathy to be called a moan, but the man in front of him grins triumphantly. He pushes his free hand over Chuck's throat, forcing him to let his head fall back to the wall.  
Herc's body shivers uncomfortably at the sight of his other so dominant son acting like... _this_.  


Over the noise of the rain and the crowd around him, Herc can still half-hear the comments hissed loudly at the boy.  


“Like to be stuffed full, huh? That’s why you come out here, causing trouble, cause you need someone to take care of you real good?” The man leaning against the wall chuckles darkly and takes another sweep of his drink. Chuck flinches when his throat is abused again, thick fingers pushing the air out of his lungs. 

“I can do that, since you seem so desperate,” the guy continues. “See it as a favor, huh?” He spits the words into Chuck’s face before grabbing and unbuckling his belt, forcefully yanking it out of the loops.  


Herc suddenly feels himself moving, furious at himself to have frozen in his place like that, and advances quickly on the man. He’s taken too much by surprise to be any trouble when Herc pushes him away: he lands unceremoniously on the wet stones, cursing and spitting.  


“The fuck, man!” he shouts, but then he looks up.  


Herc knows what he must be seeing. An older replica of the man he was just molesting: a furious one, rising to his full size with murder in his eyes. He’s fast on his feet and down the street with his confused friends after him before Herc has time to do something he would regret (but probably not, after all). His blood is pumping loudly in his ears, and he almost wants to run after them just to get rid of the anger flowing through his veins.

A small cough has him turning around, long after the men have disappeared behind a corner. Chuck is weakly spitting blood at his feet, breath a bit labored, but otherwise seemingly fine. Herc sighs and kicks the smooth stone with heavy boots before grabbing his son’s jacket and pulling him up straight.  


“C’mon,” he grumbles, tired and wet, and pushes Chuck in front of him, heading home. But his son spins out of the grip, a pathetic action with the way he sways dangerously when he’s loose.  


“I don’t need your fuckin’ help,” he sneers, eyes burning dark. Herc let’s out another heavy sigh, and drags a hand over his aching temples. There’s a wonderful headache coming, he can almost taste it.  


“Seems like you fucking do,” he states calmly, but his steady voice seems to only spur his son on.  


“I don’t need a fuckin’-” he throws himself at Herc, fists first, “-old-“, Herc steps smoothly away from the attack, with Chuck quickly going for him again, “-man-“, he’s panting heavily when Herc grabs his arm and twists it behind his back until his son is crying out, a sound he would be sure to not let escape if he was anywhere near sober. Herc doesn’t bother trying to calm him down further, just tightens the grip and starts pushing him through the crowd that easily moves at the sight of Chuck’s fury and bleeding cut.

  


Chuck doesn’t fight him on the way back, but Herc still keeps his arm firmly on his back until they reach their corridor. With a weak jank, Chuck tugs himself free and Herc lets him, and goes to open the door. Chuck stumbles over the threshold, but somehow manages to keep his balance this time, and turns on Herc, broadening his shoulders.

It’s a play, a charade, like always with his son- Herc knows. Sure, they’ve gotten some pretty nice meetings with fists greeting jaws over the years, but nothing more. Herc wouldn’t, but he isn’t so sure about Chuck when he eyes his son, blood drying on his face and eyes so dark they're almost black.  
He pushes Herc hard into the door, the room echoing with the force of it. Herc doesn’t resist much, usually Chuck just want to get the punches out of his system. _There's so much anger in the boy_ , Herc thinks, and wonders sadly if he planted it there.

His son gets real close, trying to get their eyes at level even though he’s not quite there yet, still growing.  


“That’s why your brother left?” he whispers darkly. “Because you couldn’t keep out of his business? Huh?” he punctuates the questions with a rough tug on Herc’s collar before the older man even manages to register what is being said.  


“Couldn’t stand you watching his every- _fucking_ \- move?” His voice is loud, too close, so close Herc can see the pure hatred in his son’s eyes. Being on the receiving end of that look stings in his chest.

"Don’t you speak of him," Herc manages around the tight grip on his throat. "Don’t you speak of things you know nothing about."  


He pulls his hands up and shoves his son’s fists away, pushing him so hard that he stumbles down on the floor, back to the low bed. Chuck seems surprised by the reaction, the resistance, and Herc thinks that perhaps he shouldn’t have let the young man drunkenly throw him around as much as he actually has. He knows Chuck isn't a normal kid, couldn't be with anything like it with the way the world was when he was born. Even though, Herc knows that it's his fault. That he likes to blame the cruel world, but really it's his fault and no one else's. _And isn't that part of the problem, though_ , he asks himself. _That there was no one else around_.  


When he meets his son's eyes again, there's more than anger in them. There's a hint of a smile threatening to break out, and if Chuck weren't so drunk as he actually is, Herc knows he wouldn't have noticed. _He hides everything but the anger._  


"That all you got?" he barks at his father, cocking his head, challenge loud and clear. It isn't: Herc has always held himself back when it comes to Chuck, but something breaks inside him at the arrogance his son is so proudly sporting. 

“I’ve tried the fucking carrot,” he snaps, and takes fast steps towards his son. “I tried so fucking hard.” Chuck looks unsure but intrigued by the sudden change in his father, until Herc hauls him up on the bed, and pulls his belt off.

A couple of raps was all he had planned, just something, to make him understand that the world couldn’t, wouldn’t, take all the shit he was giving it. But when he spots his son’s eyes, far below him, they’re absently focused on his crotch, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. When Herc moves his weight on his feet, Chuck snaps his head up, expression unreadable. The bulge in his pants, though, isn’t.

There’s a surge of something that isn’t shame or anger or guilt or any other familiar feeling low in his belly, and he refuses to name it, but it pulls through him all the same, thickly mixed with disgust.  
Before he can stop himself, he’s grabs his son’s cheek, firmly pushing it up to make him look at his father.  


“You fucking want it, don’t you?” Chuck looks uncomfortable for the first time in a very long time.  


“They weren’t messing around out there?” He asks, but low, as if he isn’t really expecting an answer. He lets out a puff of air when Chuck looks away. “That what you do now? A beating isn’t good enough for you anymore?” His voice feels thick in his throat. “You go around beggin’ to be fucked?”

Chuck shakes his head out of his father’s grip, but Herc takes a step closer, shoves his leg between Chuck’s and grabs his hair, hard. 

“Beggin’, like a fuckin’ whore,” he breathes, and without thinking, yanks his jeans open.  


Chuck, who always acts like nothing in the world could possibly bother him, stiffens, and Herc watches his eyes widen.

"Come on, then," he grunts, and shoves his crotch at the younger man.  


  


First, Chuck doesn’t react, just stares at the jeans in front of him and the black boxers they're barely hiding underneath. Herc is just about to push further when Chuck finally moves, sloppy, shaking movements, that quickly turn to rough ones.  
Herc hasn’t time to think about what’s going on before his son swallows him down. The sound he makes echoes in his own ears, and he suddenly worries for anyone to come rushing through the door, but if no one came at the earlier row, no one’s coming now either.

He doesn’t think Chuck has done this before, with the way saliva spills out of the corners of his mouth, with the way his eyes are tinted red with tears. But Herc can’t stop himself from thrusting, still with a tight grip in the other man’s hair, preventing him from moving.  
It’s not until he feels Chuck desperately scramble with his hands on Herc thighs for purchase that he relaxes the fist in his hair. Chuck lunges backward, saliva sticking between his lips and Herc’s cock, coughing and rubbing the back of his hand over his swollen lips.  


It’s the most beautiful thing Herc’s ever seen.

Without being told to, Chuck goes at it again, his hand coming up to rub at the base where his mouth can’t reach. Herc almost stumbles forward, overwhelmed by the feeling, grabbing the shoulders in front of him for support.  
At every thrust, the young man lets out a throaty moan, that vibrates right through Hercs body.  


When he manages to open his eyes, he sees Chuck’s other hand disappear into his own jeans, desperate jerks constrained by the tightness of the pants. Herc himself jerks forward at the sight, making Chuck retract and pull off for air again. Though Herc is staring intently at the scene before him, Chuck’s head is hung low in shame while his hand works fervently, his entire body twitching with excitement. The air is heavy with sex, and the room echoes with the filthy sound of skin on skin, until Chuck lets out a desperate whine.

Herc changes his mind as Chuck comes in his pants before him. _This_ is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Chuck has barely a chance to catch his breath before Herc drags him up the bed, cock bobbing heavily between his legs, forehead sweaty, and thick boots bringing grime onto the sheets. He makes a sound of surprise when the older man pulls his pants down and off, and something that may have been a protest when he’s flipped and shoved into the mattress on his stomach.  


Herc refuses to recognize the sounds. He wouldn’t be able to stop now even if he tried, the fire burning fiercely in his gut and spine, and the noises Chuck makes into the pillow might just as well be moans. Herc lets himself believe it as he pulls at his own pants, way too fucking eager to even take them off completely, just shoves them as far as he needs and then grabs his cock tightly. It would be a shame if this was over too soon.

He’s got one hand heavily pressed on the lower back of Chuck and the position he’s in is perfect. There’s something about him acting this inferior when he’s usually trying to be above them all, even if Herc had to manhandle him into this.

As if he hadn’t understood yet where this was going, Chuck flinches like he’s been burned when Herc spreads his cheeks and spits, letting it drip down on his pink hole.  


“Yeah,” the older man mutters, and rubs a thumb over it, hands tight on Chuck’s hips to prevent him from moving. He still is though, his hands flailing for purchase in the bed but finding nothing, his legs shaking where they hold him up.  


“Shh,” Herc coos, and lets his finger catch on the rim, and Chuck tenses and whines.  


“Please,” he whispers, the tiny word sounding so wrong coming out of his son's mouth. Herc doesn’t know what it means. Please, more? Please, no?  
He doesn’t waste more than a second to consider it.

“‘ll be so good,” he slurs, feeling suddenly drunk on this: drunk on the power over someone who hasn’t let anyone control them for years; drunk on the smell of sex in the air. His thoughts are shattered by the buzzing in his ears, the excitements thrumming through his body, and he can’t hold himself back, roughly pushing a finger inside.  
Chuck cries out again, low in his throat as he squirms. Again, Herc isn’t sure. Away or back?

If he was thinking straight, he’d know there was way too little prep for it to be good, but he isn’t, and he barely manages to spit a couple of more times before he pulls out the finger and feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get his cock in there soon.  
The rushing heartbeat in his ears shuts out any of the sounds Chuck makes at the intrusion, and Herc gasps for air as he staggeringly slides home. He is making sounds though, Herc can feel it under his hands, the noises vibrating through the boy’s lungs, back and into Herc’s calloused fingers.

"So good," he grunts, and starts thrusting for real.  


When he goes to grab Chuck’s hips, he hears his son’s sobs through the white noise in his head. Chuck turns his head on the pillow, revealing a flushed face painted with tears, and Herc feels somewhere, next to the need and want and disgust, a bit proud of himself for putting them there.  


 _I’m just showing him_ , he reasons, _this is what happens when you go around asking for a fuck. It could have been worse. It could be a fucking stranger._  
The second he thinks it, anger boils inside him again, and he claims Chuck’s hips harder at the thought of his son with a stranger, with another drunken man, in some anonymous dark alley.  
 _It could have been so much worse._

The boy is whining again, quiet, high pitched noises at the end of each thrust, the glorious sounds filling Herc’s ears anew.  


“Please,” he then gasps again, and Herc strokes his back, a gesture that would have been comforting if it wasn’t so ragged by the heavy thrusts.  


“Please, _dad_ ,” Herc hears, and he’s gone.

He slumps on top of his son, body slowly spasming and emptying inside his ass. Herc feels like his body’s been filled with melted metal, veins buzzing and shaking inside him. When he rolls off Chuck, there’s a noise not unlike a pop as he slides out of him, and when Herc looks down, there’s red coloring his skin.  


 _I hurt him_ , his mind screams, but he tries to argue that this is no different than a punch square on the jaw or a bleeding nose, but he doesn’t quite manage to convince himself, and he somehow doubts that neither would he Chuck.

They lie still for a while, Chuck breathing wetly into the pillow, still in the same position that Herc left him in, while Herc feels himself growing limp, eyelids fluttering heavily.

After a couple of minutes, Chuck rises warily and stumbles to the bathroom, shirt and shoes still on, his hair still wet from the rain. Herc feels like he should say something, but his head is thick with fog, so he lets go and closes his eyes.  



End file.
